


long after this night is over

by revolutionnaire



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, hardly even slash, maybe if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionnaire/pseuds/revolutionnaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Rob Smedley tries to explain Northern Soul music to Valtteri Bottas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	long after this night is over

**Author's Note:**

> for the [f1flashfic challenge](http://f1flashfic.livejournal.com/14033.html?style=mine), which is great fun! i hadn't the slightest clue what northern soul was before i wrote this, so i hope i did an okay job. also this ended up running away from me a little bit, oops.
> 
> the jimmy radcliffe song referenced is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mJHne4m1OM).

Rob ends up having to stick around after practice-- not that he likes working over time, but being alone in the garage means he can play his music off the speakers without the fear of Felipe and the other guys coming round and making jabs about what they've taken to calling his "old man music". It's a small consolation for being stuck here after hours, but at 10 pm on a Friday night, Rob'll take anything he gets.  
  
He's just about to belt out the chorus when he hears the back door creaking open. Rob spins around to see Valtteri Bottas creeping in, trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as he possibly can.  
  
"I left my gloves," he says almost apologetically, waving the forgotten pair of gloves at Rob like a white flag.  
  
Valtteri-- He's a nice enough fellow, Rob can tell that at least. But in the flurry of activity since he's joined, he's not had the chance to really get to know him. For one, he doesn't say much. And two, Rob's just been swamped. Race after race has hardly left enough time for socialising.  
  
"What's the music?" Valtteri asks suddenly, quirking his head like a bird to catch the song blasting from the garage stereo.  
  
"Northern soul, mate," grins Rob, leaning back in his chair for the first time that night. "Northern soul."  
  
Valtteri looks nervously at him, clearly more than a little confused. "Northern soul?"  
  
"Just this, basically," Rob gestures to the speakers. "Good fast beat, very mo-town. Soul music that somehow made it to the North. Was the rage in all the nightclubs in the 60's and 70's."  
  
"I had no idea." Valtteri tentatively drums out the rhythm against the workbench, trying to chase the swinging beat with his fingers. He's not doing a half bad job. "Never heard it before."  
  
"Nah, 'course not, you're a bit too young," muses Rob. And Christ, the lad really is incredibly young, isn't he? Twenty four bloody years old, Jesus. It's hard to remember that it's only his second year in Formula 1. Valtteri is quiet, well-mannered, and blessedly drama-free-- more mature than half the paddock, Rob reckons. A good lad. "Way too young."  
  
"And too far away, I think," says Valterri with the tiniest of smiles.   
  
"What, they didn't play Al Wilson up in..." Rob trails off awkwardly, belatedly realising he doesn't even know where his new young driver grew up.  
  
"Nastola," offers Valtteri kindly. "South of Finland."  
  
"No Northern soul up there, eh?"  
  
"No. But I like it," he says, resuming the drumming. "It's - how you say - catching?"  
  
"Catchy," grins Rob. "And right you are, lad. Right you are."  
  
Valtteri smiles at him proper now, and starts to walk towards the door. "Enjoy your music," he says, clearly intending to slip away, back to.. whatever it is Valtteri Bottas does in his free time. There's a lot Rob doesn't know.  
  
Rob holds up his hand, stopping him in his tracks. Valtteri freezes and his pale eyes widen slightly, like a rabbit that's caught scent of a fox.  
  
"While you're here," Rob gestures to the empty stool next to him. "Thought we could have a little chat. I've been meaning to talk to you, but just never got the time."  
  
His expressions doesn't usually give much away, but confusion, and perhaps a hint of wariness blink across Valterri's face. Still, he takes the seat obediently, his gloves now folded neatly across his lap, and spins so he's facing Rob. It's just a little bit disconcerting to be under Valtteri's earnest gaze, but Rob manages to speak.  
  
"I guess it's no secret, me and Felipe. We're good mates and everyone knows that. We worked together a long time, and now what with me following him here and getting put in charge, I can imagine what it looks like, I suppose."   
  
Valterri frowns at this, his eyes narrowing and - good god, why is he turning red? - looking the most uncomfortable Rob's seen him since joining the team.  
  
"I just want you to know I'm going to try my best-- for both of you. I'm not just his engineer anymore, I'm yours too."  
  
Valtteri reddens even more. 

"I'm in charge of both of you. So I don't want you worrying about that. I'm going to help him, and I'm going to help you-- equally. All fair like. Okay?"  
  
"Okay," says Valtteri roughly. "Not like I ever think that--" His hands flutter awkwardly in a useless gesture, and he looks at Rob helplessly. "You know."  
  
Ah Christ, of course not. But it's a little too late to backpedal now. Maybe he never should have brought it up at all. God knows what he was thinking. Now Valtteri thinks that Rob thought him some petty, competitive, suspicious twat accusing him of favouritism, which obviously isn't the case at all. Fucking hell, Rob's not used to this. Being at Ferrari for as long as he'd been and working solely with Felipe all these years, perhaps he'd gotten a little too comfortable, a little spoilt. Because now fate has thrown at him this new, young, exceptional Finnish kid and he's mucking things up already.  
  
"No, lad," says Rob, lowering his voice. "I didn't think you did. I just wanted to make sure is all. You know the media around here, and the things they say. If they ever say anything like that to you, just remember what I'm telling you tonight."  
  
This seems to soothe Valtteri because the flush on his cheeks drains away and he starts to smile again.  
  
"I won't forget. Thank you," Valtteri says.  _Thank you?_   Williams are lucky to have him, for sure. Any team would be. Rob sighs inwardly.  
  
"Oh, it's a bit sad."  
  
"What?" Rob isn't sure-- has he messed up more than he thought?  
  
"Your music," says Valtteri simply. "The sound is happy but the words are sad."  
  
Rob frowns. It's a Jimmy Radcliffe song now. He didn't think anyone really paid very much attention to the lyrics but alright, he'll give it to the lad; it's a little bit sad.  
  
"You may have a point, boy. But you don't really notice it when you're busy dancing."  
  
Valtteri raises his eyebrows at him.  
  
Rob does a little jig in his seat for emphasis, which makes Valtteri chuckle.  
  
"Maybe next time you teach me to dance?" he ventures, trying and failing to hide the shyness that has crept back into his voice. And then there's that smile, that rare smile that goes up to his eyes and puts dimples in his cheeks.   
  
"Sure," Rob smiles back, and links his little finger with Valtteri's. "That's a promise. Now run along, I'm trying to help you win the race come Sunday."   
  
"Thank you," Valtteri says again, and gets up to leave. Rob watches him go, smiles when Valtteri turns around to wave one last goodnight. A few months isn't going to compare to the years he's spent with Felipe, but it's a start.


End file.
